An Unexpected Amish Romance Page 4

  “Down.” The single stern word from Fannie made him plop on the floor. She praised him sweetly. He wagged his entire rear end but stayed put.

  Through the open kitchen window, Helen could see the operation below the bridge as logs were hauled out. An older man with a long gray beard was directing the operation. Mark Bowman and the two other men Helen had seen earlier stood conferring with him as several of the bigger logs were being hoisted onto a wagon. Why hadn’t she kept her mouth shut instead of calling him rude? He must think she was a sharp-tongued woman without an ounce of meekness, and he would be right.

  She drew herself up straight. Maybe she was. She didn’t have to be meek, but she did have to find work. She studied the older man beside Mark.

  “Is that your father-in-law, Isaac Bowman?” Helen would ask him about a job as soon as the opportunity arose.

  Fannie glanced out the window. “It is. The good-looking fellow with the short beard is my husband, Noah. The other two with them are Mark and Paul Bowman. They are Isaac’s nephews.”

  “I almost ran into Mark earlier and then Clyde did. It wasn’t pleasant.”

  Fannie grinned and took a step closer. “That sounds intriguing. Do tell.”

  Something about the sparkle in Fannie’s eyes prompted Helen to confide in her. “On our way here, Aenti Charlotte dropped the lines and I grabbed them as we came through the bridge. The horse veered sharply and almost ran into Mark as he stood at the side of the road. He suggested that I let the dog drive if I couldn’t do any better.”

  “He didn’t?”

  Helen nodded. “He yelled at me.”

  “Mark can be gruff, but I’m sure he was sorry he shouted at you.”

  “That wasn’t the worst of it. A short time later, Clyde jumped on him from behind and laid him out in a mud puddle in front of your husband and Paul.”

  Fannie giggled and clapped both hands over her mouth. “That I would have liked to see. Mark is the stuffy sort. It’s odd that Clyde should pick on him.”

  “I haven’t noticed that Clyde is particular about who he jumps on.”

  “He can be. Mark is all business. I imagine my husband was laughing, but I’ll guess that Paul was roaring. He has a...large...sense of humor.”

  “I was so embarrassed that I barely noticed. Mark was not laughing. He called me a menace.”

  Fannie smothered her grin. “He shouldn’t have done that. He owes you an apology. It was an accident. Everyone knows Clyde isn’t exactly well trained.” Fannie glanced at the dog lying quietly at her feet.

  “I’m afraid I’m the one who owes Mark an apology. I told him he was rude and judgmental, and then I fled.”

  Repeating her comment aloud made her ashamed of her behavior. She bowed her head. “I’m afraid I showed a serious lack of demut.”

  Fannie slipped an arm around Helen’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “Humbleness is something I struggle with, too. Don’t worry about it. I will say you hit the nail on the head about Mark. Don’t get me wrong. I like him, but he’s not the friendly sort. He’s hardworking, diligent and thrifty, all fine traits, but not much fun. I think underneath there is a happier man waiting to emerge.”

  Helen appreciated Fannie’s understanding and knew she had made her first friend in Bowmans Crossing. “Would it be forward of me to ask Isaac about a job today?”

  “You’ll have to ask Mark. Isaac put him in charge of hiring new workers a few months ago.”

  “Oh, dear.” Helen closed her eyes. How much worse could this get? So much for not caring what Mark Bowman thought of her. He wasn’t likely to hire her after the way she had spoken to him, even if he had been rude first. “Are you sure you don’t know of anyone else looking to hire a maid or a nanny, a gardener, anything?”

  “I don’t. I’m sorry, but there will be lots of people here today. Maybe someone will have better news for you.”

  “If you hear of anything, please let me know.” If nothing else was available, she would have to apologize and soon. What could she say that would make up for her stinging comments to him?

  Fannie lifted a container of pastry from Helen’s basket. “These cream horns look yummy. Did you make them?”

  “I did. Have one and tell me what you think. It’s a new recipe. I’ve added something special to the puff pastry.”

  Fannie bit into the cream-filled treat and her eyes widened. “Oh, Helen, these are amazing.”

  “Danki.”

  “I hate to admit it, but I’m not much of a cook. I’d rather be taking care of the horses outside instead of doing anything inside.”

  “Baking is a pleasure, not a chore. I love finding ways to improve on things I’ve made or try out ways to add different flavors and textures to breads and cakes.”

  “My mother always told me that the way to man’s heart is through his stomach. At least that is how she claims she won my father over.”

  Helen stared out the window where Mark had climbed out onto the mass of debris to loop a rope around a tangled root mass. Two men in a small rowboat on the river surveyed the mass and called out directions. Mark moved confidently, but it looked like dangerous work. She waited until he was safely back on the bank. “I’m not looking for a way to his heart, only a way to apologize.”

  “For a plateful of these, I’d forgive you just about anything.”

  “Even a dog-assisted tumble into a puddle?”

  “Ja.” Fannie nodded as she licked some of the filling from her fingers. Helen prayed Fannie was right.

  “Then I’ll set aside a half dozen and brace myself to grovel with them later if I have to.” If she found work with someone before the men came in to eat, she might be spared the pain.

  As it turned out, she came up empty while getting to know many of Charlotte’s friends and the likable young women of the Bowman family. Clyde had been turned over to some of the children who were wearing him out with a game of fetch. Juliet was occupied with getting a grape from Charlotte, carrying it down to the river to wash and then eat it before racing up the hill to beg for another.

  When the men came in, Mark took a seat beside Isaac without so much as a glance in Helen’s direction. Before the meal was served, everyone bowed their heads for silent grace. After that, she kept a close eye on the men and noticed Mark took three of her ham and cheese–filled crescent rolls and managed to snag the last of her cream horns when the plate was passed. When he licked a smear of filling from his fingers, she knew he liked them. She’d been smart to keep some back.

  She rushed to the house and took the half-dozen pastries outside as she rehearsed her apology. To her chagrin, Mark was already on his way back to the river. She hurried after him and called out, “Mark Bowman, may I speak to you for a moment?”

  He stopped and looked back. She saw the indecision cross his face, but he nodded. “I reckon.”

  Smile. Don’t look intimidated.

  “I’ve brought some of my cream horns as a peace offering.” She lifted the plate just as her foot encountered Juliet racing past. The outraged raccoon squealed. Helen hopped over her to keep from tripping. Clyde, who until that instant had been fetching a ball for one of the children, leaped on Helen from behind, knocking her forward. She plowed into Mark as he tried to catch her. Horrified, she looked down at the plate of pastry sandwiched between them and then back to his darkening brow. Clyde danced around them, barking excitedly.

  “What was it that you wanted?” Mark asked in a cold, calm voice as he held her away. The remains of the smashed cream horns covering his shirt began dropping to the ground. Clyde darted in to snatch them up.

  “To apologize,” she answered in a small voice. She still had the empty plate in her hands.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t know your name. Who are you?”

  “I don’t think I want to tell you.” She began plucking the stuck pieces off
his shirt.

  He grabbed her hand. “Miss?”

  “Zook. Helen Zook. I’m visiting my aunt for the summer, and that’s all I’m going to say about it.” She turned away and walked back to the tables, aware of the snickers of laughter from the onlookers. She passed them with her head down and went to her aunt.

  Charlotte was trying to coax Juliet out of the tree next to the house. Juliet hissed when Helen stopped beside Charlotte and went up to the top of the tree. “Aenti, I’m going to walk home.”

  “That’s a goot idea, dear. Poor Juliet is very upset with you.”

  “I’m afraid she’s not the only one.” Helen didn’t bother looking to see if Mark was still watching her. She could feel his eyes boring into her back.

  “I have told Juliet you aren’t staying with us long, but I’m not sure she understands me. She isn’t fond of company.”

  “Please tell her I’m sorry I stepped on her.” Helen kept walking and didn’t look back. She guessed her chance of being hired by Mark Bowman was now about zero or less thanks to Clyde. Things could get desperate if her aunt chose her pet’s happiness over her niece and asked Helen to leave.

  She wasn’t going home, so where would she go?

  * * *

  Paul walked up to Mark, swiped his finger through a clump of cream filling and stuck it in his mouth. “She and that dog together are a menace, but you have to admit she makes a fine dessert.”

  “Go away.”

  Paul held out his finger. “Just one more lick?”

  “Paul.” Mark bit out the name with as much threat as he could manage.

  “Okay, okay, I’m going. It’s sad to say, because today has been mighty entertaining, but I don’t think we will see much of Helen Zook for a while.”

  “I hope not.”

  Fannie came down with a wet napkin in her hand. “I thought you might need this.”

  He took it and began wiping the front of his shirt. “I’ve never met anyone like that woman.”

  “I know. Clyde has taken a shine to her and to you. Isn’t that wunderbarr?”

  He looked up in amazement, but Fannie was already heading back up the hill chuckling to herself.

  The rest of the afternoon passed quickly and uneventfully, for which Mark was grateful. The work was hard, but it was satisfying when the jam finally broke free and washed under the bridge. They had gathered enough wood to keep a good many homes warm during the coming winter.

  Exhausted and determined not to think about the outspoken and annoying Helen Zook or the troubling letter from Angela, Mark went up to bed not long after supper. With a cool evening breeze blowing through the open window beside him, he fell sound asleep just minutes after his head hit the pillow.

  Until the howling began.

  Chapter Four

  Charlotte entered the kitchen the morning after the frolic and sniffed the air appreciatively. “Something smells wunderbarr. What are you making?”

  After a sleepless night, Helen had been up mixing, kneading and watching her dough rise for over three hours already, and it was barely seven o’clock. “I’m making chocolate almond crescent rolls.”

  Because she was unsure if the oven temperature was accurate on her aunt’s ancient propane model, she had put only four rolls on her baking sheet to test them first. They were done to a beautiful golden brown. She slid them onto a plate on the table and set the pan aside to cool while she rolled up another dozen. Now if only her decision to see Mark Bowman later today would turn out half so well. She wiped her damp brow with the back of her arm and then rolled up her sleeves.

  “May I have one of these?” Charlotte took two from the plate on the kitchen table without waiting for Helen to answer her.

  “Help yourself. I’m taking them with me when I go to ask for a job today. I hope Mark Bowman likes them, and I hope he doesn’t end up wearing them.”

  It had occurred to her a little before 3:00 a.m. that it was highly unlikely that today could turn out worse than yesterday, but at least she wouldn’t have Clyde or Juliet to hinder her. She planned to go alone to the Bowman workshop.

  If Mark would see her, and if she made a sincere effort to apologize, and if she could convince him that she desperately needed a job, he might offer her employment. And if he liked her chocolate almond pastry as much as he had seemed to like her ham and cheese rolls yesterday, she wasn’t above using them as a sweetener. It was a lot of ifs, but what choice did she have?

  “Why would Mark Bowman want to wear your baked goods?”

  Helen drew a deep breath and smiled fondly at her aunt. “I have no idea, but I desperately hope he will offer me a job. He should. I’ve had experience working in the fabric shop in Nappanee. I worked in a hardware store for a summer, but I didn’t care for the man who ran it. He was creepy. I’m conscientious. I’m hardworking. I’m a quick learner. I would be an asset to any business, even one run by a rude, judgmental and annoying fellow like Mark Bowman.”

  “I don’t think he’s annoying. Did you let Clyde out this morning?” Charlotte stood in the middle of the kitchen turning in slow circles. She bent down to look under the table then moved the trash can to look behind it as if the dog might have become paper thin overnight.

  “I did not.”

  “He isn’t in the house. I’ve looked everywhere, and Juliet is missing, too.” Charlotte opened the door to the cellar and called down the steps, “Clyde, come here, boy.”

  Helen placed her batch of rolls in the oven, wound the kitchen timer and set it beside the stove. “I’ll go outside and look for them in a few minutes. I’m sure they are playing in the yard. You mentioned that Juliet can open a door when she wants to. Was the back door open?”

  “I believe it was. I’ll look, you finish what you’re doing.” Charlotte went to the back of the house. She returned a few minutes later. “They aren’t outside. I called and called. Clyde never misses a meal, and neither does Juliet. Something is wrong.”

  “I’m sure they are fine.” Helen realized she hadn’t heard or seen the dog and raccoon all morning. That was unusual.

  Charlotte’s eyes widened. She pressed both hands to her cheeks. “Someone has stolen them.”

  Helen caught herself before she laughed aloud. She struggled to speak in a reasonable tone. “Aenti, calm yourself. Who would want to steal your pets?”

  “I’ve read that the Englisch people make hats out of raccoons, and Clyde is a very valuable animal. Why, the bishop’s wife remarked on his amazingly long ears just yesterday. Oh, the nerve of that woman to take him from my house. Well, she can’t have him. I’m going right over there and tell her so.”

  Helen caught her aunt by the arm as she marched toward the kitchen door. “Nee, you are not going to accuse the bishop’s wife of dognapping. She said his ears were foolishly long for such a squat-bodied hund. I was standing right beside you when she said it.”

  “I heard her say his ears were luxuriously long, and she deeply admired such a dog.”

  Clearly her aunt heard only what she wanted to hear when people were talking about her pets. “Even if she admired him, she wouldn’t steal him.”

  “You don’t know that woman. Her family is from Nappanee.”

  “So is your family.”

  “Exactly!”

  Helen caught the sound of distant barking. “I think I hear him.”

  “You do?” Charlotte rushed to the door and pulled it open. “Clyde! Where are you?”

  Helen moved to stand beside her aunt. Dawn was turning the eastern sky a pale gold color beyond the tree-covered ridge to the east. “I’m sure it was him.”

  The barking started again, closer now. Charlotte pressed her hands to her chest. “I hear him, too. It is Clyde. Come here, baby boy.”

  She rushed outside just as a horse and buggy turned off the main road and rolled up her lane.
The barking, louder and more frantic now, was coming from the buggy. Helen stepped out onto the porch but almost turned and scurried back into the house when she saw Mark Bowman was driving. What was he doing here? The barking was definitely coming from his buggy. Why did he have Clyde with him?

  Mark started to step down, but her aunt planted herself in front of him with one hand on her hip as she shook a finger in his face. “How dare you! I never would have suspected a Bowman of such dastardly behavior.”

  “What?” He looked utterly confused. Helen knew exactly how he felt.

  Charlotte folded her arms over her ample chest. “Stealing is a sin and beneath you, Mark Bowman, but I forgive you, since you have returned him.”

  Mark looked at Helen. “What is she talking about?”

  “She thinks that you stole Clyde.”

  His puzzled expression snapped into a fierce scowl. “I did no such thing. Your miserable mutt began howling outside my window at three o’clock this morning. I couldn’t make him leave. He woke the entire household. I almost returned him then, but I decided to wait until a reasonable hour.”

  Charlotte already had the rear buggy door open. Clyde was smothering her with doggy kisses as he struggled against the makeshift leash preventing him from jumping out. “Untie him at once, and I won’t mention your deplorable behavior to Bishop Beachy.”

  “I didn’t steal your dog!”

  Helen patted his shoulder. “I think I can help. Aenti, listen carefully. Mr. Bowman didn’t take Clyde. Your poor dog became lost in the woods last night. Mr. Bowman found him and took time out of his busy morning to bring your precious pet home because he knows how much you love Clyde. Mark is a mighty goot fellow.”

  Charlotte eyed him suspiciously for a long moment and then looked at Helen. Her eyes brightened. “He’s a hero just like in the book I’m reading. He rescued poor Clyde from a terrible fate. Bless you, my boy.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” Mark muttered under his breath. He untied the rope holding Clyde in the buggy.